


Best Laid Plans

by Lyrstzha



Category: Stargate Atlantis
Genre: Anal Sex, Established Relationship, M/M, Sex Pollen, Snark
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2006-12-12
Updated: 2006-12-12
Packaged: 2017-10-05 15:38:27
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,724
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/43256
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lyrstzha/pseuds/Lyrstzha
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sheppard's been waiting for a completely sane moment to pounce on Rodney. That's not as simple as it sounds, considering that they live in the Pegasus galaxy.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Best Laid Plans

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ana_grrl](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=ana_grrl).



> For ana_grrl as a prize for her correct guess in the Name the Fandoms I Have Loved meme.

John Sheppard has the most freakishly perfect timing ever. He's used to that by now. It's not like he doesn't _know_ it isn't normal to keep escaping from certain death with only seconds to spare, after all. And it's just a little weird that he always happens to show up in the messhall right as those almost-cupcakes, which are popularly known to be the most decent food the cooks make, come hot from the oven—just in time to snag the four fattest for his team. Although McKay somewhat petulantly points out that Sheppard's flirting with the cooks might be a factor on that last one, too. Not that Rodney turns down his share of the cupcake haul, of course.

But it isn't all Sheppard's fault; he's sure of that. The Pegasus galaxy just combines with his freakish timing to make Really Weird Things happen. It's sort of like the way Penn and Teller—both pretty odd on their own—combine to reach a whole new level of strange together.

So John knew that he'd have to be really careful about fucking Rodney for the first time. He'd gone through a scrupulous mental checklist. No aliens making them participate in ancient fertility rituals, check. No dead people's personalities possessing their brains, check. No Ancient devices triggering some kind of hormone-maddened heat, check. Neither of them turning into any kind of plant or animal with some kind of imperative mating drive, check. He'd been so good, keeping the flirting banter between them at a simmer until he could be sure that there was nothing bizarre going on, nothing but what they both wanted.

Yeah, it _sounded_ easy when John first planned it, but given the craziness in Atlantis? Not so easy after all. It takes _months_ to be sure.

But when that rare day finally arrives, John pounces. There's a dizzying blur of warm, frantic skin, and Rodney's sharp tongue goes satisfyingly vague until all the words it can shape clearly are _yes_ and _more_ and _John_. He's slowly sinking into Rodney, wholly unsurprised to find heels digging into the small of his back insistently, impatiently—when, naturally, John's radio calls in a tiny voice from the bedside table.

Stuttering to a halt mid-thrust, Sheppard scrabbles for the radio and gasps, "Elizabeth?" into it. He claps a hand across his mouth as soon as the word is out to muffle the sound of his heaving breath.

Rodney growls beneath him and that doesn't help at _all_.

"Colonel Sheppard? The botanists are having trouble with some sort of vine. It seems to have filled the entire botany lab with pollen, and spilled out into some of the other life science labs. Atlantis has locked us down under quarantine."

Sheppard parts his hushing fingers enough to say, "Quarantine? What, is the pollen dangerous?"

There's a noticeable pause, just long enough for him to stare down silently at Rodney and have trouble blocking out the way his thigh muscles are twitching slightly under John's fingers with the effort of staying still.

Finally, Weir clears her throat with a small, uncomfortable sound, and replies, "Not dangerous, exactly. It appears to be...," she clears her throat again, "Carson's calling it sex pollen." John can almost hear her thinking, _How the hell did I end up with a job that includes serious discussions about sex pollen?_

"Sex pollen," he repeats, just because. "I've got McKay here with me; if you override the quarantine, we can—"

"No, Colonel. There's no need. I just wanted to keep you apprised of the situation. Major Lorne and Doctor Parrish are down there now, spraying a neutralizing agent. They report that things are more or less under control. We should be back to normal in under an hour."

"Oh," Sheppard says, and opens his mouth to add that he should still get down to the botany labs to assess things himself, when Rodney flexes hard around him with a ripple of internal muscle, disjointing all coherent thought. Somehow he manages to choke, "Sheppard out."

"I know what you're thinking, and you're not going anywhere." Rodney glares up at him with a decidedly mulish look. "One step into that wing, and sex-crazed lab techs would be all over you like alien priestesses at a fertility rite. Just this once, let it happen to someone else, okay? Just for variety."

"That wouldn't—" John tries, before Rodney runs over him like an annoyed freight train.

"Oh, don't even! Of course it would. That's _always_ what happens to you. And excuse me if I don't want you to pull out of me and go off to be ravished by a gang of pollen-doped sex fiends." Rodney flexes even harder, making John's hips jerk forward and his vision go a bit grey around the edges. "Not. This. Time," Rodney grits out between his teeth, his heels grinding against John's back with an inexorable force like gravity until there's no deeper for John to go.

John topples forwards to blindly lick at the collarbone he finds under his lips. As he drags his tongue down over Rodney's breastbone, the short hairs there slick straight and flat against pale skin, which tastes almost like the sea that murmurs softly outside. John's hips curl tightly into Rodney and back, easy and natural as breath or the tide, and Rodney's big hands catch at John's shoulders and hips like they're fitting into places that were always shaped for them.

And yet. Something nags at the edges of Sheppard's conscious mind. It has to nag pretty loudly before he stills and realization strikes him like a giant cartoon anvil.

Of all the things he'd remembered to check off his mental list, what's the one he'd forgotten? _Sex pollen_. Well, crap. Right away, John feels his cock soften a little.

He squirms in the tight circle of Rodney's arms to get his hands braced firmly against the bed, pulling back until he can peer searchingly at Rodney's flushed face. He stares, as if the influence of sex pollen might somehow be visible to the naked eye.

"Um, Rodney? Maybe we should, you know. Table this until the whole sex pollen thing is sorted out." John tries to roll backwards on his knees, but Rodney's legs show no sign of unlocking to let him move away.

"_What_? You know that conversation we _just had_ a second ago? Were you even listening, or was I talking to myself?"

"Yeah, I know. No pollen-doped sex fiends." John looks away and swallows before he can turn back; Rodney's eyes feel too close and too keen, and John is even more naked than he'd realized. "I just don't want...," and he adds a vague nod to the space between them. "I want this to be us. Just us, no sex pollen or other Pegasus craziness."

Rodney's mouth opens, then closes slowly without forming a single word. Something that looks like wonder or exasperation or affection flickers through his intent eyes; John thinks it might be all three. He huffs out a sigh and reaches up to gently smack the palm of one hand against John's forehead. "I know for a fact that you're a lot smarter than you look, so I'm going to put this down to a temporary lack of blood in your brain. I'm going to go with it as a compliment." His palm gently smacks John in the head again. "So let's try to think this through in easy stages, okay? Where's the sex pollen?"

"Botany lab," John says, with a sneaking suspicion that he's about to be roundly beaten about the head and shoulders with blunt logic.

"Botany. Lab," Rodney repeats very slowly, enunciating with exaggerated clarity, as if he thinks maybe John's going deaf. "And where are we?"

"Okay, I _know_. Other side of the city." John cocks his head doubtfully. "But you could have been down there earlier."

"In the _botany lab_? Have we _met_?" Rodney's hands leave John's skin to gesture wildly, which is almost endearing and familiar enough to keep John from feeling cold in the spaces they vacate, but not quite. "Since when do I go within a tier of that gaggle of tree-hugging, pseudo-scientist gardeners? They seriously believe that _flowers_ are _science_. What kind of head injury could possibly make you think that I'd be anywhere near the botany lab, especially after," and there Rodney makes a complicated hand wave that everyone who knows him well has come to understand to mean _that debacle with Doctor Katie Brown, of which we will never speak again_.

John blinks, feeling something tight unwind in his chest, like maybe his ribcage is blooming open. "So, no pollen."

Rodney sighs again, and looks like he's trying to frown, but it won't quite stick. His hands come back and settle, smoothing over John's shoulder blades with a firm, sure stroke. "No. No pollen. Are there any other concerns you'd like to address while you're buried inside my ass, or are we okay?" He punctuates this with a sharp arch of his spine, and suddenly John is jolted fully into aching hardness again.

"We're," John pauses to pant raggedly, "okay."

"You're sure?" Rodney bucks upwards a little, and John falls face first into Rodney's neck and makes a small, desperate noise that he thinks he should be embarrassed by, but isn't. "Because we can review the facts again if you're confused at all."

"'M sure," John mumbles against the curve of Rodney's throat.

"Then we can get back to the earthshattering sex now?" The rumble of Rodney's voice tickles against John's lips.

It won't do any harm to let the pollen-doped sex fiends chase Lorne around for a change, John thinks, more than a little deliriously. He pulls back just far enough to grin down at Rodney, wicked and wolfish and simply happy. He rolls his hips just so, grinning even wider when this wrings a startled groan and a bone-deep shudder from Rodney. "I guess we could." He rolls his hips again, setting off a whole new cascade of shudders. "If you want," he adds, sounding almost casual except for how he doesn't at all.

"Really do," Rodney gasps, his tone oddly solemn, like he's promising something.

And then it's just them, without any sex pollen or Pegasus craziness at all, at least for a little while.


End file.
